Near and Present Future (Jemma Simmons has a Celebrity Crush!)
by everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: Jemma has been pining over the lovely Scottish host of the popular science and innovation show, "Near and Present Future", for the entire stretch of her second PhD. When she hears he's coming to her local shopping mall she cannot pass up the opportunity to go out and get his signature on her completed thesis. Fitz-is-a-TV-Host-AU!
1. Chapter 1

The second the credits start to roll, she grabs for the remote and tracks back through the DVD to watch her favourite episode for maybe the third? No, the fourth time that night. It's late, it's Friday and it's just her and her cactus, Ichabod, alone in her one-bedroom flat. An empty pizza box lies on the floor next to the bed and she's in her jammies, cuddled up under the covers with a glass of red. In her defense, it _has_ been a big week.

If all the _Near and Present Future_ fans were surveyed as to their favourite episode, she knows for a fact that she wouldn't be alone in nominating this Christmas special from a few years back. But if pressed to provide a reason why, unlike the rest of America, she wouldn't even mention the inclusion of Tony Stark let alone the cut of his expensive suit, his dashing good looks or his impressively generous altruism. For her, it's all about the host – his unassuming cardigans, his comfortingly familiar accent, his piercing blue eyes, his staggering brain and his patently enormous heart.

At the start of the episode he walks to the front door of a modest suburban home, addressing the camera in the manner of many TV show hosts that have gone before him. But none of those others bounce with his irrepressible enthusiasm, none of them embrace the child's mother with such genuine warmth, none of them get down on the floor with the little boy, tell him jokes that make him giggle hysterically and zoom toy cars around him in such a way that you could almost fail to notice the child's missing limb.

No one else on TV can trade such quick-fire, funny _and_ scientifically accurate banter with someone the stature of Stark. Fitz never misses a beat - out-argues and, in her humble opinion, even out-charms the playboy billionaire philanthropist leaving Stark looking distinctly impressed. As he introduces the little boy to Stark, his wide eyes fix themselves first on Fitz for reassurance, and it's Fitz's calming big-brotherly presence that brings the little boy right out of his shell.

Back in the studio, Fitz and Stark discuss the process of creating and fitting the extremely advanced prosthetic arm with an impressive team of experts. As usual, Fitz draws the best out of all his guests, refraining from making himself a feature and letting the others shine.

As always, Jemma sheds a tear at the end of the episode as Fitz wrestles playfully on the rug with the little boy and the family dog, the little boy's brand new bionic Ironman arm glinting in the sunlight.

To think, tomorrow she might get to feel what it would be like to have the intensity of that blue gaze fixed on her. This time, as the credits roll she turns off the TV rather than rewinds. Better get her beauty sleep.

ooo

It didn't seem to matter how many of these shopping mall appearances Fitz endured, his pre-show nerves never once showed any sign of abating. Even after five incredibly successful years as the widely beloved host of _Near and Present Future_ – the popular science, innovation and invention show that all the networks were bidding to poach – he still felt like he was going to hurl just before he went on camera. Perhaps it was time to accept that while he stayed in the spotlight, nausea would be his constant companion.

After a couple of semesters as the best-reviewed first-year science lecturer at Columbia University, he'd been head-hunted for a job he never would have thought to actually apply for. _Near and Present Future_ introduced ideas, gadgets and applications so ground-breaking that at the point of airing, the features had rarely mustered enough funding to be developed. However, as a result of a slot on the show, somehow the right backer would emerge from the ether. As a consequence, Dr Leo Fitz was one of the hottest properties of the academic world. His seemingly endless familiarity with the range of disciplines involved in any given feature as well as his boundless enthusiasm and insightful and entertaining conversational style put his guests at ease and enabled them to best communicate their often obscure scientific developments. As far as the networks were concerned, it also didn't hurt that he had a Scottish accent to die for and was _very_ easy on the eye.

Whatever the reason, a local appearance from Fitz brought the people out in force and while he hid behind a pillar with the crew trying to hold down his breakfast, the ever-growing queue of fans snaked on for what seemed like miles. Some of them clutched a copy of the recently released _Near and Present Future_ coffee-table book which profiled many of the show's featured inventions. Others held autograph books or photos of Fitz they'd cut out of magazines for him to autograph.

Of course, then there were always one or two awkward gushing fangirls who wanted him to sign some part or other of their actual flesh. Though he usually managed to give off at least the appearance of calm confidence, Fitz blushed and stammered his way through these experiences and Instagram held plenty of photographic proof of his evident discomfort. The gushing awkward fangirls found his bashfulness sweet. It had even become necessary on these occasions for Mack, his friend and assistant producer, to be relegated to the role of bodyguard. At first Fitz had worried that foisting that job on Mack was a waste of the man's talents though at each appearance it became more and more apparent that Mack thoroughly enjoyed himself. In an alternate universe, Mack was probably a cheerfully intimidating nightclub bouncer – Lord of the Ropeline.

Every time they did one of these appearances Mack reminded him of the _other_ possibility that he'd offered to handle. Fitz always just laughed, unable to even imagine the circumstance in which he'd be so wowed by some admirer that he'd have to get Mack to keep her comfortable while she waited around for him to finish with the fans. The scenario just sounded so frankly implausible that now he cursorily dismissed Mack before the big man even started on the reminder. What sort of a woman would spend half the morning waiting around to have a coffee with some upstart from the telly? Fitz wasn't even sure that the sort of people who dedicated their entire Saturday mornings to gaining one of his inky scrawls on a piece of their property were exactly the sort he'd want to commit to spending any more time with than that taken to snap a selfie anyway. Besides, though it had been seven years or so since that fleeting encounter, somewhere in the reject basket of unlikely hopes stored deep in his heart, his "sort of people" seemed to be limited to only one.

Along with Mack, Fitz's entourage consisted of the rest of _Near and Present Future_ 's cast and crew. They didn't have to be there, none of the fans exactly came to see any of them, but such was their devotion to Fitz that they all prioritised being there for him in his suffering anyway. While their towering stylist, Bobbi, attempted to tame Fitz's curls, the producer, Phil, fetched them each one of those preposterously enormous American coffees. Their tech adviser, Skye, drooled over the hardware in an adjacent computer store window display and mentally readjusted her budget projections, while their incredibly talented machine specialists, Ward and Trip, cheerfully debased themselves by setting up tables and chairs on the pre-fab dais all the while deflecting the jocular harassment of the show's publicist, Lance Hunter. Last to wander into the mall and join them, silently relieving Phil of the gargantuan cup with her name on it, was the show's head of logistics, location scout and truck driver, Melinda May.

A frisson of excitement seemed to weave its way through the waiting crowd as the giant clock above them ticked its way towards eleven o'clock. Phil took hold of Fitz's upper arm with a grip intended to instill confidence and security.

"Ready, pal?" the older man asked kindly.

"As I'll ever be," sighed Fitz, fighting another wave of queasiness.

"You always feel like this at the start, remember?" Phil reminded him. "But it gets better, right?"

Fitz shrugged.

"Well, let's go meet Cambridge, Massachusetts. Man, are they out in force!" And with that, Phil propelled Fitz up the steps of the dais and led him to his seat behind the table Ward and Trip had set up for him.

Taking up the microphone that had been provided for them, Phil stepped up to warm up the crowd.

"Cambridge, Massachusetts!" Phil enthused to the loud applause and cheering of the gathered fans. "The cast and crew of _Near and Present Future_ , and especially your host, my man Fitz, behind me here…" Fitz managed a cheery wave and a distinctly high-pitched collective squeal rose up from the multitude, "are delighted to be with you in this beautiful mall of yours!"

Another cheer.

"Fitz is really looking forward to meeting as many of you as he can but it looks like we've got a pretty huge crowd here today so we might have to limit each meeting to just a minute or two."

A collective boo.

Phil blithely soldiered on. "I hope you've come armed with your cameras and your books and posters and whatever else you might want Fitz to sign."

Fitz surreptitiously rolled his eyes at Skye who sat just off stage on the lounge chairs with the rest of the crew – far enough to be out of the way, close enough to provide at least a semblance of moral support. She offered him a not-particularly-encouraging suggestive wink in return.

"We have a few boxes of Sharpies to get through and my man here has plenty of charm and genius to go around so why don't I get out of your way and let you start meeting our beloved Dr Leo Fitz!"

The crowd roared and the front of the line surged forward. As predicted, after the first few selfies, Fitz's nerves started to settle and he slowly warmed up to his task, meeting and greeting and smiling for photos without any trouble at all.

It quickly became apparent why the crowd was so huge. The mall was on the edge of the campus of MIT. The students and academics in the science-related departments of the college would have been amongst the most avid viewers of _Near and Present Future_ in the entire country _._ Many had come equipped with précises of their research grant applications and blueprints of designs to try and garner Fitz's enthusiasm. Thankfully, Ward and Trip had anticipated this possibility and encouraged Fitz to palm the overly enthusiastic scientists off toward them under the guise of taking their information for future contact in case there'd ever be a slot for them on air.

As it turned out, thanks to the proximity of such an illustrious institution, having so many motivated fans come at Fitz with their proposals rather than their autograph books was far more stimulating than the usual stretches of inane small talk. Cambridge, Massachusetts was fast becoming his favourite selfie town in the entire United States of America.

Right off the back of a particularly interesting conversation about super colliders, a young woman shyly approached the table. Her large honey-coloured eyes watched him shyly from under her long lashes. Fitz took in her pale skin dotted here and there with tiny freckles and her long chocolate brown hair pinned at the temple by a simple silver slide. She wore a navy blouse with white birds in flight scattered all across it. Fitz realised how badly he must have been staring when he observed that there was one little bird embroidered in red on the breast pocket that matched her red buttons. He hoped he hadn't fixed his gaze anywhere untoward.

"Dr Fitz?" she greeted him tentatively, snapping him out of his reverie with the surprise, and yet familiarity, of her accent. She laid a thick academic tome bound in navy blue canvas on the table in front of him and nervously traced the gold lettering with her forefinger.

"Please," he managed, waving his hand in front of him in what he hoped came across as a laid-back gesture. "Call me Fitz."

She gave him a nervous smile. "Fitz."

He grinned goofily back at her.

Taking courage she plunged on. "I finished my PhD last week and watching you… um… your show, I mean, has been my one source of escapism all this time."

Fitz's felt an odd swoop, low in his belly as she stammered on.

"I was wondering if you would maybe sign my thesis for me?" She gave a nervous little laugh and blushed prettily. "Truthfully, I almost feel like I should give you a writing credit, Dr Fitz, you've been that much a part of the process for me."

He gazed up at her, enthralled. It was true, it sometimes happened that women took these opportunities to admit to harbouring little crushes on him. Usually it was unbearably awkward. This woman hadn't actually confessed anything of the sort but she certainly wasn't shying away from hinting at it.

Fitz shook his head. He opened the cover of her thesis just to stop himself from gaping at her.

 **Massachusetts Institute of Technology**

 ** _"Determination, characterisation and visualisation for rapid identification of novel disease resistance genes."_**

 **Dr Jemma Simmons**

 **A thesis submitted for Doctor of Philosophy in Biochemistry and Biomedical Science.**

"Jemma," he read, hearing his voice sound much breathier and much less manly than he'd hoped. "Hang on. _Dr Jemma Simmons_?"

Assuming his shock was prompted by disbelief that anyone who already had one PhD would knowingly sign themselves up for a second round of that particular brand of merry hell, she merely shrugged. "I have a lot of questions about the world."

Fitz was staring at the words on the page in front of him, trying to make sense of what he thought his brain was telling him. How could this be? "Was your first PhD on neurotoxicity of human eosinophils?"

Jemma's jaw dropped. "How on earth could you possibly know that?"

"You presented a paper at a conference I attended." Fitz was mentally back in the last rows of that crowded lecture hall, palpably reliving the shockwave of admiration and attraction he'd felt for his fellow scientist at the podium. "Oxford wasn't it? 2008?"

She could only manage a nod in confirmation.

Fitz's brain was trying to tell him something again. He needed Mack to do _the thing_. The thing he'd never imagined he'd need Mack to do until this scientist that had become the stuff of his dreams had re-appeared in an American shopping mall and asked him to sign her thesis. This time he could actually see her face up close. And, just as he'd imagined, she was lovely.

Thankfully, Fitz's reaction to Jemma's approach had been observed, not only by Mack who was hovering purposefully near by, but by the entire cast and crew of _Near and Present Future_. Without saying a word to one another, they had each internally signed up to be Fitz's wingman.

All Fitz wanted to do was to keep chatting to Jemma though he couldn't help but let his eyes flit over her shoulder to the only somewhat diminished multitude beyond.

Her hands flew to her cheeks. "Oh, Fitz, I'm so sorry, I've been holding you up."

"No!" He panicked. The universe had brought her back to him despite the bounds of time and space. He couldn't lose another opportunity to get to know her. "D-do you have plans for the rest of the day?"

She shook her head with a musical little laugh. "My big aim at the mall today, besides meeting you of course, was to take home something other than beer and sirarcha to go in my empty fridge. I've finished my second PhD for heaven's sake. I'm all about tracksuit pants and television and not leaving the house for the next week."

Fitz thought it sounded blissful. He wondered if she'd give him the opportunity to angle for an invitation.

"See that enormous guy over there?" he managed to control his voice enough to ask.

Mack had stepped forward perceptively making friendly eye-contact.

Jemma nodded.

"That's my friend, Mack. I don't suppose you could just have a quick chat to him about how I, umm… how I could maybe get in touch with you when I'm done here?"

Jemma gave him a little smile and nodded emphatically.

His eyes widened. "Really?"

Jemma's grin broadened. "Fitz, honestly, I'd _love_ to."

Fitz just grinned at her like an idiot for a moment before realising he still had her thesis open in front of him. "Oh, hey. I'd better sign this for you first."

"Yeah," she laughed. "Seeing as you're truthfully the only reason I came all the way out here. It's amazing how long you can survive on beer and sirarcha when you have to."

He gazed up at her. "So, can I write anything I like?"

Jemma beamed back. "Of course!"

Fitz, who didn't believe in astral projection, sort of watched himself from outside of his own body as he leaned forward and whispered "What if it's a bit, you know, _flirtatious_?"

Jemma flushed again as she leaned forward to whisper back, "A flirtatious message from Leo Fitz inside the front cover of my PhD thesis would make me even happier than receiving first class honours."

He grinned. The view from outside his body was highly satisfactory. At least he didn't _seem_ to be making a fool of himself. It was frustratingly hard to tell. He'd never really tried flirting before, but if Jemma's reactions were anything to go by it seemed to be humming along nicely. Fitz took up a Sharpie and started writing, coyly shielding the words from her with a cupped hand. He suddenly snapped the cover shut and met her eye, looking pretty pleased with himself.

"You will go and talk to Mack, right Jemma?" he confirmed, trying not to sound too needy.

"Fitz, I'm half thinking that if he'll let me I'll just sit over there with him and stare at you until you're ready to come and talk to me some more." She suddenly laughed. "Don't go finding anyone more interesting than me in that queue, will you?"

Fitz cocked his head to one side doing a quick calculation. "Jemma, this is our forty-fifth shopping mall appearance in two years. I have never once wanted to spend any more time than strictly necessary with anyone I've met at one of these." He jerked his head in his enormous friend's direction. "Ask Mack. He's been kind of pissed off about it. This is going to make his day."

"Oh," she giggled. "That's okay then."

"Bye, Jemma," he whispered, unable to tear his blue eyes off her.

"See you soon, Fitz," she whispered back and he watched her walk all the way down the steps and over to where Mack stood waiting.

"Ahem," coughed the next fan in line.


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma could have tried to deny her infatuation with Leo Fitz if you'd turned up at her apartment and found her shelves bulging with five years worth of neatly catalogued recordings of _Near and Present Future_. She certainly would have struggled to explain away the neatly cut-out photo of him she'd stuck on the inside door of her locker in the lab. She would also have been at pains to refute accusations of desiring him when she woke up that morning and ever so carefully selected her outfit, let alone queued for an hour-and-a-half in a suburban shopping mall. So, surrounded by the cast and crew that adored him and who had all wistfully witnessed their interaction of only moments before, she felt more than a little exposed.

Callie, her recalcitrant neighbour, regularly smuggled herself backstage at concerts to meet pierced and tattooed rock'n'roll bad guys. Raina, her fitness-obsessed lab partner, was always queuing to meet the overly-muscled trainers who tortured fat people on reality television. _And here am I having spent the morning queuing up to meet the nerdily sexy host of Near and Present Future,_ she mused to herself. _What does it say about me that Dr Leo Fitz, of all people, is my celebrity crush?_

She opened her thesis, noticing her hands were trembling as she smoothed the front page flat. His handwriting was an enchanting scrawl that practically shouted genius.

 _Dr Jemma Simmons,_

 _Had I known Cambridge, Massachusetts was harbouring the show's most beautiful and prodigious fan, I would have insisted we make our way out here ages ago. I've spent quite a few years kicking myself for not finding the courage to talk to you at that conference in Oxford but it seems the universe has conspired to give me another shot. My studies suggest the universe doesn't do this sort of thing very often. Here's hoping I don't muck it up._

 _Fitz_

She caught him glancing over and smiling at her between his meeting and greeting of fans.

 _Who am I kidding?_ she sighed to herself _._ _Leo Fitz is my_ only _crush._

Phil, the man Mack had introduced as Fitz's producer, plonked himself in the seat next to her and held out one of those colossal American take-away cups. "Coffee?" he offered. "Hope you're okay with a latte."

"Sounds lovely. Thank you." Jemma took the cup, grateful for something to fixate on other than Fitz or the fluttering in her stomach.

"So," Phil began with the tone of a father quizzing his teenage son's prom date. "Have you been a long-term fan of the show?"

Jemma's huge smile gave her away immediately. "I don't usually admit this," she confided, "But I've got every episode recorded. I can't even begin to convey how excited I was to see those initial promos before the first episode aired. I remember thinking 'Finally, a show made for people like me!'"

"That's funny," Phil chuckled. "That's word-for-word exactly what Fitz said when we pitched the concept to him. But _he's_ the crucial element that makes the show successful, wouldn't you agree?"

"Absolutely," Jemma gushed adding, "Fitz is _amazing_ ," before she realised how desperate she probably sounded. "Well, he's just such a gifted presenter. I mean, it goes without saying, doesn't it. He's a genius," she rambled on, trying and hopelessly failing to tone down the enthusiasm of her initial assessment.

Phil just chuckled. "And not too bad to look at?"

"No," she replied with a quick laugh. "Not bad at all." She pursed her lips, too afraid to say anything else in case Phil became convinced she was stalker material.

"You don't have to hold back around us," Phil grinned. "We are the boy's biggest fans in the world. Right, Skye?"

The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes affectionately. "What can I say?" she shrugged. "We all love the little dweeb."

"It's odd," Jemma mused, half to herself. "He said he remembers seeing me presenting a paper years ago."

"What?" asked Skye, suddenly on the edge of her seat. "Not at Oxford?"

"Yes," Jemma replied, cocking her head to one side. "How did you guess?"

"Oh. My. God, Phil. This girl is Dr Oxford!" Skye almost shouted. "Trip, Ward! Get over here!"

The two tall men, who'd been surrounded by a crowd of excitable boffins all morning, looked relieved to have an excuse to get away. And though he hadn't been summoned by name, Hunter meandered over with the blatant intention of eavesdropping.

Jemma couldn't help but feel a little intimidated as Fitz's team gathered around her. She slid a little lower in her seat, feeling for all the world like a reluctant museum exhibit.

"What is it, Skye?" asked the one Mack had pointed out as Ward.

"You are not going to believe this," she continued. "Fitz's fangirl here…"

"Hey," complained Jemma mildly. "I'm a scientist too, you know."

"Exactly," nodded Skye, eyes wide, continuing on as if Jemma were a fascinating species of plant rather than an actual person. "This is Fitz's Dr Oxford! Can you believe it? After all this time, finally the shopping malls of America come good for him!"

"Excuse me," Jemma interjected, feeling slightly piqued by the way she was being discussed but not directly addressed. "I don't know what you're talking about. You might have me confused with someone else. My name isn't Oxford. I'm Dr Jemma Simmons."

Trip was shaking his head at Skye. "C'mon, girl," he laughed. "You just really want it to be her. You claim not to be into romance but I am seeing right through you. And you totally have to come out with me."

Jemma thought she noticed Ward bristle at his colleague's shoulder but she didn't have time to dwell. For the first time in what was well and truly long enough, she was invited into the conversation.

"Dr Simmons, did you or did you not present a paper on something extremely nerdy and specific to do with neurotoxins at a conference at Oxford University sometime in the mid-to-late noughties?" Hunter cross-examined.

Jemma's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to give a definitive answer to that question until one of you explains what this is all about."

"Dr Simmons," Mack stepped in, holding up his palms in what appeared to be a characteristically diplomatic manner.

"Please, Jemma is fine. I only threw in the Dr Simmons to make it clear to you all that I'm not this Dr Oxford you keep talking about."

Mack laughed. "See, Jemma, that's what's funny. Dr Oxford is the nickname we gave to this girl that Fitz once told us about after he'd had one too many beers at Hunter's bachelor party."

" _Stag night_ , Mack," Hunter interjected. "My country-woman here probably can't understand the blather you lot try to pass off as English."

Jemma fixed him with a cool glare. "I am perfectly capable of deciphering Americanisms, thank you. Now could we get back to the point?"

"Whatever," sighed Hunter. "Go on, tell her the story, Mack."

Mack chuckled. "Well, my man Fitz had had this insanely big week. The show had only aired a few times and we were getting such a great reception that Fitz ended up being invited to appear on everything going. Hunter here booked him so many back-to-back slots that by the time Sunday night came around he only needed one drink to be three sheets to the wind."

Jemma couldn't help the small smile that she felt sneaking up on her. Having fallen for Fitz the minute she saw the first promo for _Near and Present Future_ , nothing made her happier than those weeks in which he seemed to turn up on every show she watched, every radio program she tuned into and on the side of what seemed like every second bus in the city. Now at least she knew who she had to thank.

"We got to the first bar on the agenda, we sat down, Fitz downed a beer and, we were still getting to know one another, you know? Someone asked him about whether or not he had a girlfriend and the next thing we knew he was spilling all the details of his disaster love life," Mack said.

"Poor guy," interjected Ward sympathetically. "He hasn't had much luck with the ladies."

Jemma glanced up at Fitz finding that revelation almost impossible to believe. She happened to catch him looking with some concern at the little powwow of his colleagues that had gathered around her. She wondered how he'd feel if he knew his friends were spilling his secrets.

"To be fair," Trip countered supportively, "It's not so much that my man's tried and failed, it's more that he got stymied by something back in the day and he hasn't really found his groove again."

Ward acknowledged the truth of his fellow specialist's point with a slow nod.

"The sad story Fitz told us," Trip continued, "Was about this conference he'd gone to at Oxford. At some point he'd been sitting in the main lecture hall all psyched to hear this expert in her field talking about neurotoxins. Now keep in mind that when we heard this story, the poor guy was dog tired…"

A number of disapproving glances were aimed at Hunter who shrugged them off with an injured sounding, "What? That's my _job_!"

"And pretty well under the influence," Trip went on. "But he said the woman who had gotten up to speak was an incarnation of the goddess Aphrodite in a labcoat _and_ she was his age and smarter than him."

"We were all in stiches," Skye interjected. "Honestly, whose erotic fantasy includes antiquity, a labcoat and evidence of genius?"

Jemma laughed, blushed furiously and raised her hand much to the uproarious amusement of the crew.

"Well, that makes it even better," Skye declared, "because the genius Venus in the labcoat was _you_."

"How do you even know that?" Jemma argued, trying to remain pragmatic and quell the maelstrom of butterflies that had taken residence in her abdomen. "I probably wasn't the only person presenting on neurotoxins that year."

Skye fixed her with a look. "I bet you were the only female PhD student as young as Fitz who could have caught his eye. So anyway, he told us that by the end of her presentation he'd known that she was the only one for him but he didn't have the guts to go up and meet her. Since his confession we've teased him mercilessly about this Dr Oxford woman. The dream girl to whom no other matches up. And now, here you are!"

Jemma shook her head. "Look, if he's been fantasising about _me_ all this time, why didn't he recognise me the minute I stepped up to the table just now. It wasn't until he read my name that he thought to ask."

"That's the best part, right?" Trip said. "The thing is, Fitz was so far away from the front of this massive lecture theatre that he couldn't even get a good look at her."

Skye jumped in over the top of him. "It's because he fell in love with her _brain._ " She looked around at her workmates. "I mean, how totally _Fitz_ is that?"

Jemma's eyes were irresistibly pulled back to where Fitz sat chatting amicably with his adoring fans. She'd always thought he'd come across as pretty well perfect on the telly, but could he be _that_ perfect? Could he really have fallen in love with someone (with her?) based purely on what she'd revealed about her mind? She was at least going to have to stick around long enough to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

It was lucky that Fitz was good at multi-tasking. He could write his name, smile for photos _and_ make engaging small-talk all while completely freaking out about whatever it was that his entire crew had gathered around Jemma to say. He couldn't even see her now, obscured as she was by Hunter and the hulking specialists. But he could see Skye. And she was looking way too excited for this to be good.

To his great relief, at least the line was decidedly dwindling. He reckoned he could count less than twenty stragglers milling about at the foot of the platform. The introvert within him sighed in anticipation of liberation.

Introverts were often egregiously misrepresented. Everyone expected them to be Nigel-No-Friends who only knew how to relate to others via the safe mediation of the internet. Fitz knew better. He was an internal processor who loved his down-time and liked to spend portions of the day in silence and sometimes even solitude. But after a morning like the one he'd just had – extremely superficial conversations with hundreds and hundreds of people – there was one bubbling hope spurring him through it.

Usually he looked forward to lunch with the crew, connecting with his surrogate family and recharging in their deep connections and profound conversations. Today he was hanging out for the one-to-one intensity of meaningful time alone with this woman that he had dreamed about getting to know for years.

He vaguely wondered how hard it would be to blow everyone else off to take her out. Team lunch after these big mornings had become kind of sacrosanct. But they were only in Cambridge for this one day. Surely everyone else would understand?

Finally he found himself posing for his last selfie and shaking his last lot of hands. He glanced over to his crew to find them all completely ignoring him, locked as they were in conversation with Jemma. He fretted nervously. He could only hope they were sticking to his good points.

ooo

If Jemma hadn't arrived at the mall already in love with Fitz, the conversation she'd just had with his adoring crew would have fixed it. Movement on the platform caught her eye and suddenly he was wandering over to join them, his blue eyes finding hers with a keen anticipation.

"Hey," he addressed the crew as they stood to slap him on the back with wider-than-usual congratulatory grins. "I know we normally have lunch together after these things but do you think it would be alright if I maybe ate with Jemma today?"

Jemma tried to stifle a laugh as every member of the crew fired at him their hastily made-up prior engagements that would have prevented them from going to lunch with him anyway.

"Oh," Fitz responded, surprised. "Are you taking the bus back to New York now then, May?"

"Err," she replied hesitantly, her eyes darting to Coulson for the specifics of the plan.

"Yeah," Phil nodded decisively. "Sorry about that, pal." He fished in his pocket for his car keys. "Here, take Lola. You can just bring her back to me at the studio in the morning."

The collective gasp was nearly strong enough to suck Jemma off her feet.

"Who's Lola?" she enquired.

Phil shrugged. "Lola's my car. You'll like her."

"Are you sure about this, Phil?" Fitz asked, glancing round the semi-circle of dropped jaws.

"Of course." The older man clapped him firmly, _really_ firmly, on the shoulder. "You'll take care of her though, right?"

Fitz weighed the keys in his hand. "Like she was my own."

"Which she isn't," Phil reminded him and Jemma thought his smile might have looked a bit fixed. "But you know that, of course."

"Wheels up in ten," May announced tersely before turning to Jemma with a warm smile. "It was really nice to meet you, Jemma. I hope we'll be seeing more of you."

Jemma beamed back. "Oh, so lovely to meet you too, May. Yes, I hope we will see each other again."

She turned to Fitz. "Wheels up?"

Fitz laughed. "May's an aviation nerd, always hanging around the airstrip in her time off."

"Ahh," Jemma nodded. "So the bus isn't actually a plane?"

Fitz gave her an odd look. "Err, no. The bus is just, um, you know, a bus."

There was a flurry of activity as the crew grabbed their gear, farewelled Fitz and Jemma and headed for the exit. Jemma couldn't help but notice the pointed glances and back slaps her new friends bestowed on Fitz as they said their goodbyes.

Skye even rushed back and threw her arms around Jemma. "It really was _so_ nice to meet you," she said, for maybe the fourth time. "Have fun with Fitz today."

Jemma glanced shyly over at the man she'd daydreamed about for the last five years.

"She will," Fitz laughed and Skye grabbed him into a fierce bear hug also.

"Call me tonight," she ordered him. "Or…" A devilish grin crept over her face. "In the morning if that's more convenient." She ran for the exit laughing as if she half-expected Fitz to give chase.

Alone at last, Jemma turned to find Fitz flushed red as a beet, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck.

"So, you met my friends then," he observed dryly. He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and, taking a deep breath, offered her his arm.

Jemma slid her hand through his proffered elbow and felt the thrill of their first physical contact. He wore a pale blue shirt with the cuffs rolled back over deep blue fitted jeans and red Converse All-stars. She squashed down a little disappointment that he wasn't wearing one of his signature cardigans, but she supposed it was quite a warm day. Perhaps he had one in his backpack that she might get to see him wear later.

"Hungry?" Fitz enquired.

" _Starving_ ," she replied, just realising in that moment how long it had been since she'd left the bare cupboards of her apartment earlier that morning. "I don't suppose you're a fan of burgers?"

He grinned. "Want to try to find burgers as big as our heads?"

She nodded happily. "Is there any other kind?"

"You realise we have to take Lola though, right?" Fitz said. "You probably gathered from the crew's reaction that Phil doesn't lend her out easily. You'll see why in a minute."

"Shall we get drive-through and eat by the river?" Jemma suggested.

"Sounds perfect," Fitz grinned, leading her out to where he'd seen Phil park his beloved car earlier that morning.

ooo

Once Jemma got over her shock and awe at Lola, Fitz opened the door for her, let her settle in and then literally pinched his own arm _hard_ as he walked around the back of the car to the driver door.

 _Nope, definitely not dreaming._

A cool breeze had hit them as they walked out of the controlled-climate of the mall and glancing over at Jemma's pretty but flimsy looking blouse, Fitz dug his navy cardigan out of his backpack and offered it to her for the drive.

"It might get pretty chilly with the top down," he said by way of explanation.

Jemma accepted the cardigan with what seemed to Fitz a disproportionate level of appreciation. "Thank you," she gushed as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and wrapped it snugly around her. "This is _so_ thoughtful of you."

Fitz grinned broadly, feeling a little glow at the sight of her wrapped in his cardi. Thoughtfulness was a positive attribute for a date, right? Jemma seemed to think so.

"So," she began as Fitz carefully pulled out of the parking lot. "How did this morning go? I thought you'd be completely exhausted after that."

He gave a low chuckle. "I can't say I'm not happy it's over," he replied. "But it really is fun meeting the rabid fans like that. They're so passionate about the show!"

"Careful," she warned him playfully. "There's a rabid fan sitting right next to you."

Fitz shook his head. "It blows my mind that someone like you would watch our show," he said quietly.

"Why?" Jemma asked incredulously. "You're a genuinely lovely person and an incredibly gifted scientist. And you have such a knack for inviting your guests to open up about their ideas and processes. It's great entertainment and I personally find it utterly inspiring."

"Really?" Fitz asked softly, glancing over at her, thrilled at the thought that he could be part of something that inspired someone like her.

"Really! I told you I'd thought of thanking you in my thesis, didn't I?" She met his eyes with as much sincerity as she could muster. "Do you really think I would have queued for hours in a shopping mall to meet you if I didn't think you were something pretty special?"

Fitz blushed noticeably. "I guess not. But I still can't believe you were willing to stick around for that long just to wait for me."

Jemma laughed. "Oh, your crew were _highly_ entertaining." She glanced over at him to see his eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Are you going to tell me what they said that was so entertaining?"

"Nope," she replied cheerily. "But I don't mind saying that deciding to hang around and wait for you was an absolute no-brainer." She took a deep breath. "I've had a bit of a crush on you for a while now," she admitted. _Understatement of the year._

Fitz's grin couldn't have gotten any wider. "Hang on," he laughed. "You're not the one who sends me the, ahem… the ladies, umm, underthings, are you?"

Jemma could feel her face turn a shade that must have nicely matched Lola's paintjob. She hoped he would attribute her high colour to shock at the very thought that anyone would do such an inappropriate thing. Inwardly she sighed with relief that she chose to _wear_ her novelty science-themed underwear today rather than post them to him with a provocative photo as Callie had been insisting she should.

"Not I," she replied laughing. _Should I admit to having thought about it? Probably not just yet._


	4. Chapter 4

Once they'd found appropriately enormous burgers, Jemma directed Fitz down to a particularly picturesque picnic spot on the riverbank. Fitz popped the boot and found that Phil Coulson did not disappoint. A capacious picnic rug was folded up neatly in the back along with a couple of squashy cushions.

They found a spot on the grass in the partial shade of an enormous linden tree and Fitz laid out the rug in the dappled light. They stretched out on their stomachs side by side and propped themselves up on their elbows to eat.

"I think we succeeded with these burgers," Jemma laughed, raising it up next to her face for a size comparison before taking a bite.

Fitz nodded, his mouth full of food. When he'd swallowed he had to ask again. "So," he said, keeping his tone light. "What _was_ it that my crew was telling you this morning?"

She shook her head laughing and waggled her finger at him, rendered unable to speak by the burger.

"Worth a try," Fitz shrugged. "Ok, Dr Jemma Simmons who now has two PhDs – are you committed to academia forever?" He got stuck into his burger and waited for her reply.

Jemma wiped her mouth with a napkin. "First let me say about your crew, even though I'm not going to tell you the specifics, they so clearly adore you. So if you're worried that whatever they said might have put me off you, think again. There's something very attractive about a man whose whole team thinks the sun shines out of his arse."

Fitz laughed so hard he almost inhaled his burger.

"I mean it, Fitz. All of your co-workers think you're the greatest. There aren't that many people in the world who can claim that. It says a lot about you as a person," she insisted. "Not that I needed any convincing that you were wonderful."

Fitz cast a quick glance sideways over his burger to find her smiling at him sincerely.

"As for a life in academia," she went on, quickly looking away. "I do love the freedom to explore every avenue and I enjoy the teaching too. Not sure that I'll stay at MIT for much longer though. I'm sort of thinking about an offer I just got from Columbia. How do you find living in New York?" She shifted her gaze back to her food.

Fitz looked thoughtfully at the river as he finished chewing. He knew he'd been getting ahead of himself but he'd already been feeling a bit down about the three-hour drive between New York and Cambridge. He cheered considerably at the thought that a move might be on the cards.

"New York is amazing!" he enthused. "I mean, terrifying at first for a Glasgow boy, but now I love it. Phil helped me find a great apartment in a great part of the city and it's just so alive, you know? And I loved Columbia – that's where I was working when Phil came and pitched the show to me. I wasn't looking to leave, I just thought I had to at least give the show a try. Phil and Mack are hard people to say no to."

"I can imagine!" Jemma replied. "What were you doing at Columbia?"

"Hang on," Fitz interjected, looking longingly at his burger. "Surely it's my turn to ask a question so you can talk and I can eat."

"Sorry," Jemma laughed. "You're the one with professional interview experience. Ask away."

"Thank you," Fitz sighed, trying to sound exasperated. "What do you do when you're not doing uni work?" He turned his attention back to his burger.

Jemma scoffed. "When am I ever not doing uni work?" She picked thoughtfully at the tassels of the woollen rug. "Actually, that's a good question. I suppose I've sort of let my work take over my whole life. I mean, I swim at the uni pool, I play a bit of indoor football in winter, I read… Well," she huffed, clearly embarrassed by reaching the end of the list. "In my defense I _have_ been finishing off my second PhD, it's not like I've been unproductive." She was quiet moment. "I probably do need to get a life."

"And you watch our show," Fitz offered. "That's an excellent use of your time."

"It really is," she nodded. "I think I like watching your show more than all those other things I just listed."

"More than football?" Fitz scoffed. "Not humanly possible."

Jemma laughed. "Ok, a little bit less than playing football, but not much less." She glanced at the side of his face shyly. "It really is a bit of a dream being here with you, you know."

Fitz turned to meet her eyes, a dreamy little smile playing across his lips. "How does flesh-and-blood me compare to TV me?" he asked. "Am I a colossal disappointment in person?"

She thought about kissing him right there and then but instead settled for a little shake of her head and a coy smile. "You're not too bad in real-life actually," Jemma mused non-commitally. "Not too bad at all."

"Am I not-too-bad enough to be allowed to take you to dinner tonight?" Fitz suddenly asked, uncertain as to the source of this unaccustomed courage.

"I love that we're lining up the next meal before we've even finished the first," Jemma laughed, popping the final morsel of her burger into her mouth.

"So that's a yes?" Fitz clarified.

She nodded emphatically until she'd swallowed her mouthful. "Remember that thing I said about it being a bit of a dream to be here with you?" she replied, grinning. "Trust me when I say I'm keen to drag this day out for as long as possible."

Fitz rolled over onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head, a giant smile on his face. "I haven't dated all that much," he admitted. "But you're making it seem much easier than I thought it would be."

"I guess it helps if the girl you're trying to date finds you far more interesting than every other man she's ever met," Jemma murmured, her eyes on the burger wrapper she was intently crumpling between her hands.

Fitz shook his head in wonder, gazing up at this perfect woman beside him. "I'm not going to deny that that's a pretty gratifying thing to hear you say," he replied. "I just can't for the life of me understand how it could be true."

Jemma shrugged. "Tell me what it's like to have your job," she asked, changing the subject and pinching a chip from his pile.

"Sometimes," he said, "I get to meet these amazingly brilliant, beautiful women who actually want to be around me."

"No surprises there," Jemma nodded, trying not to feel jealous.

"No, wait," Fitz held up one finger thoughtfully. "That only happened this one time. Actually, it was this morning."

She grinned and threw a chip at him. "Just answer the question, Fitz."

"What can I say?" Fitz pondered. "I love it. I get to spend hours every week sifting through these amazing breakthroughs and discoveries, playing with gadgets, taking them apart. Everyone on the crew brings story suggestions and helps me research our ideas. We spend heaps of time together and we're a really tight team. What's not to love about working everyday with your closest friends doing stuff you're passionate about?"

Jemma nodded sadly. This time she really did feel jealous. "It sounds perfect," she said wistfully, trying to hold back from imagining herself into that blissful picture. "What about when you're not working? What do you do for fun?"

Fitz laughed. "Umm, it's possible that there isn't too much of a hard line between work and play, I guess. I'm always just hanging out with the team. Though sometimes I like to just stay home for a night and play piano. That's mostly how I unwind."

Jemma reached out and thumped him, hard, in the stomach.

"Ow!" he cried, curling into a protective ball. "What on earth was that for?"

"For Pete's sake, Fitz. Play piano? As if it isn't bad enough having a hopeless crush on the host of the best program ever shown on telly. I do _not_ need you turning out to be a frigging Disney prince, ok?"

ooo

After their late lunch, the afternoon was taking a distinctive turn towards early evening.

"How do you feel about kayaking?" Jemma asked suddenly, clambering to her feet and gathering up their rubbish to drop into the bin.

"Sounds a bit active, don't you think?" Fitz grumbled mildly.

"Well, if you're taking me to dinner after I just ate my bodyweight in burger, I think we probably better try something to work up an appetite, don't you?"

Fitz got to his feet and shook out the picnic rug. "If you say so, but I'm not sure that I can be trusted on water."

"Don't worry, Fitz," she assured him. "I'll keep you afloat."

"Pretty sure that's what Kate Winslet said to my namesake in _Titanic_ and things didn't work out all that well for him now, did they?"

Jemma scoffed, grabbing up the cushions and heading off in the direction of Lola. "Don't you trust me, Fitz? That's not a very auspicious start to a relationship."

"I trust you with a data projector. I trust you with complex scientific apparatus. Heck, I'd probably trust you to perform brain surgery on me, but kayaking?"

"You can swim, right?"

"I can, but I don't exactly swim for fun."

"But you'd contemplate kayaking for fun, right? You'd at least think about it," Jemma insisted and her cheeky smile was so annoyingly charming that Fitz was left powerless.

He threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, should I update my will first?"

"I don't think that'll be necessary, do you?" she laughed as they threw their picnic things into the back of Lola.

"Well, let's just hope I don't end up proven right," he grumped, thumping the boot closed and turning to face her. "I'm worth a fair bit more these days than I used to be."

A sudden jolt of electricity shot through Fitz's arm. He looked down to find his fingers entwined with Jemma's as she dragged him towards the jetty. She looked over her shoulder at him and took in his wide-eyed delight.

"This okay?" she asked, nodding towards their hands.

"This is great," he replied, his grin incredulous. "It seems those Beatles were right about something..."

"You want to hold my hand?" she giggled.

"Nah, it's just, you see, Jemma, I'm getting the distinct vibe that maybe I _am_ the Walrus after all."


	5. Chapter 5

_Look, I've done something potentially silly and implausible here, but some of you might appreciate the soundtrack anyway. These are the two songs. You'll know what I mean when you get there. And I know that it was someone on AO3 who introduced me to these covers but I cannot for the life of me remember who. Whoever you are, I am eternally in your debt! The songs are Sleeping At Last covers of "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" originally by The Police (you can find it_ _on YouTube but it seems I can't add the link in any helpful way,_ _and yes, that is where my pseud comes from. It seemed fitting for my first fic in the Potterverse back in 2008 and yet this cover seems so apt here! Oh, Sting. So versatile. And hot. Though aged. Let's just go with "rugged" shall we?) and "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" originally by The Proclaimers (you can find it_ _on YouTube too_ _). Look, we could open up a debate as to whether or not he has a voice like this, I'm going to go ahead and guess not, but for the sake of atmosphere, let's just imagine it's lovely._

 _Also, check out the_ _AMAZING manip made for Near and Present Future by memorizingthedigitsofpi_ _– eeeeek!_

 _http colonslashslash memorizingthedigitsofpi dot tumblr dot com slash image slash 122727011792_

* * *

"You're pretty cute when you're terrified," Jemma chuckled as she held the kayak steady against the jetty.

"From now on you have to ignore the advice of whoever told you that being patronising was the way to a man's heart," Fitz muttered, gripping onto her hand for dear life.

"That's right," Jemma replied, dropping her forehead into her palm. "Sorry, what's the best way again? I mean, if it were up to me to choose, a sharp scalpel would do the trick pretty efficiently."

"Oh har, har," Fitz deadpanned. "That's it, go on. Reassure me by making more jokes about my imminent demise."

"Well, I'm disinclined to say anything else," Jemma responded airily. "It might be interpreted as patronising."

Fitz finally lowered himself clumsily into the front seat of the kayak and collapsed laughing. "Back at Oxford I didn't get the vibe you'd turn out to be this funny."

"Ok, a, I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not and, b, if not sarcastic, is that a good surprise or a bad surprise?"

Fitz started laughing again which she interpreted to mean 'not sarcastic' and 'good surprise'.

"Of course, I knew _you_ were funny," she said, pushing them off from the jetty and giggling as she watched Fitz's knuckles whiten as they gripped his oar. "It's just one of the many ways in which you systematically ruined me for other men."

Jemma was appreciating her view of the back of his neck (there was something incredibly attractive about the spot where his hairline met his skin) as he shook his head in disbelief.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sometimes I find it hard to accept that you're talking about me when you say this stuff," Fitz shrugged.

"You _obviously_ don't religiously watch yourself on TV," Jemma retorted. "If you did, you'd know exactly what I was talking about."

"And I'd ruin myself for other men?" he asked. "Better steer clear then. It sounds like watching our show has left you at a real social disadvantage."

"I was starting to think that myself," she replied. "And then today happened."

Fitz turned suddenly in an attempt to catch her eye and the movement shook their kayak violently. He let out a little shriek and almost dropped his oar into the river.

"Ok," Jemma giggled. "We better not say anything else flirtatious just in case we get carried away and capsize."

Fitz snorted. "No flirting on pain of a watery death. Got it."

"So," Jemma chirped. "Do you ever find the time to work on any of your own projects?"

"Not as much time as I'd like," he replied. "But Phil and Mack are always badgering me to lock myself in the lab for a day. Phil says they want us to be able to profile my designs too, which is kind of great of him."

"I'd _love_ to see your designs on the show," Jemma breathed, realising there was no point trying not to gush.

"Wouldn't it be a bit weird seeing me show off my own stuff like that?" Fitz shrugged. "It feels like a bit of an abuse of my position."

"Not when the people who head-hunted you for the job in the first place are trying to talk you into it!" Jemma scoffed. "Speaking for myself, and remember I'm possibly your biggest fan in the world, I think it would be amazing for the audience to get an insight into _your_ thoughts and processes. I mean, think of all those people in that queue this morning, sure, we love the show, but we came out to meet _you_. You're the one we all find so inspiring."

Fitz chuckled lightly. "I thought we'd agreed not to flirt in case we sank."

Jemma gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm not even flirting right now, Fitz! I'm just telling the truth!"

She saw a red blush creeping up the back of his neck. "Ok, maybe don't do that either. Just til we're back on dry land, okay?"

ooo

Fitz was quite surprised when, a few hours later, he clambered back onto the jetty alive and more-or-less dry. He'd had _fun_. In a _kayak_. Almost none of his attention had gone into rowing or steering or avoiding drowning – it had all seemed so incidental to the main event of basking in the company of this amazing woman.

He turned and reached out his hand to help Jemma up the ladder and was winded afresh by just how staggeringly pretty she was. He'd almost forgotten with her seated behind him in the kayak, caught up as he'd been in the sheer joy of easy, stimulating conversation with a kindred spirit. She reached out and took hold of his extended hand just as a light breeze blew her dark hair away from her face. Her amber eyes gazed warmly into his and Fitz began to get a sense of just how far gone he was.

The sun was slipping slowly behind the trees on the opposite side of the river and the sky was turning orange and pink around the edges as they sauntered back to where Lola was parked.

"Are we ready to eat again yet?" Fitz asked, giving himself serious props for keeping the pitch of his voice steady as Jemma casually intertwined her fingers with his.

"Oooh, maybe," she replied. "Where do you want to go?"

The Gryffindor in Fitz responded quickly with a broad smile. "Somewhere unspeakably romantic."

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile from Jemma that would surely have beaten even the thrill of taking the House Cup off Slytherin when it looked as though all hope was lost.

"I know just the place," she replied, squeezing his hand. She gave him an apologetic look. "But you have to come back to my flat first so that I can get dressed up."

"Dressed up?" Fitz spluttered. "Hang on. Where are we going?"

"Don't worry," she replied soothingly. "Your outfit is perfect. Or at least it will be once I give you back your cardigan."

"But I think your outfit is perfect too," Fitz complained mildly.

"Why, thank you," she giggled. "It's just that the opportunity has arisen and I'm seizing it with both hands."

"And what opportunity is that?" he asked, leading her around to the passenger door and holding it open for her.

"The most amazing man I know is taking me to dinner," she sighed happily, sinking into Lola's leather seat. "I'm giving it everything I've got to win his heart."

She looked up at where Fitz seemed to have malfunctioned, stuck gaping like a dopey statue against the car door he'd just closed for her.

"What?" Jemma asked prettily, her cheeks slightly pink. "I thought you said we could pick up the flirting again once we got back on dry land."

Fitz internally debated revealing the extent of her triumphant victory before she'd even begun but then he thought twice. He'd already labelled it Best. Day. Ever. Might as well see just how good it could get!

ooo

Jemma pushed open the door of her well-contained flat and let Fitz wander in ahead of her.

"Make yourself comfortable," she said hurriedly as she ran for her room. "Believe it or not, I won't keep you waiting long."

"Hey," Fitz called after her. " _You_ have a piano! And you were teasing me about being a Disney prince!"

Jemma's disembodied voice sounded amused. "Fitz, honestly, how did you manage to take being called a Disney prince as an insult?"

"Oh," he paused. "That was a compliment?"

"I was _trying_ to imply," she called back, "That you are too good to be true."

"Riiight," Fitz replied, feeling quite chuffed. "Well, I suppose that's alright then."

"So," she called, "Are you going to serenade me while I get changed?"

"You want me to play for you?" he asked falteringly.

"Do you sing?" she asked, popping her head around the door.

Fitz could see just a glimpse of her bare creamy shoulder. "Errr, yeah?" fell out of his open mouth.

"Go on, then," she smiled encouragingly and then disappeared behind the door again.

Fitz found his feet carrying him over to the piano stool. He plonked himself down and, after only a moment, felt the familiarity of the context kicking his brain back into gear.

 _Unspeakably romantic_ , he whispered to himself and started to play.

As he should have anticipated, after the first few chords he was lost. He never had an audience at home and somehow, even given the extraordinary proximity of a scantily clad woman with whom he was besotted, everything faded into the background. The song he played was a recent cover of what he thought was probably one of the best love songs of all time. He was singing it to Jemma, yes, but the easiness with which he sang it came from that sense of home that came over him the minute he had sat down at the piano. That piece done, he moved straight into the chords of another love song, covered by the same artist, this one an iconic Scottish pop song given a lilting, haunting melancholy instead of the almost comical jaunt of the original.

As he let the sustain pedal hold that last chord for as long as it could linger, he turned his head to find Jemma leaning against the doorjamb, hugging his cardigan to her chest and watching him with a little smile.

Fitz staggered to his feet as the only response he could think to make to the vision of loveliness before him. Her hair was still down but she'd pinned more of it back so that it looked relaxed and soft as it cascaded in long, loose curls over the white polka dots of her cherry red tea dress. Her lips were red, her eyes were smoky, her neckline was, if not plunging, then certainly less demure than the navy blouse she'd just shed. In his head an inexplicably film noir narrator made some commentary about her perfect stems. Fitz had to agree. Her legs _were_ set off extremely nicely by the voluminous hem of her gown and those matching peep-toe heels. He couldn't help looking her up and down appreciatively. When some of the blood made its way back to his brain, he was gratified to notice that even with those extra inches, he still _just_ maintained the height advantage.

She walked towards him with a little smile holding out his cardigan by the shoulders, ready to help him into it. He dutifully slid his arms into the sleeves and let her tuck the lapels around his neck. As he turned to face her, she took hold of the fabric again, straightening the navy wool. The light pressure of her knuckles against his chest made his breath catch in his throat. She was right there. And she was _so_ beautiful. He looked up to meet her amber eyes but found them trained on his lips.

God, how long had it been since he'd kissed anyone? He could barely even remember those now insignificant encounters with women who must have somehow seemed appealing at the time. How could anything he'd shared with any of them even have the gall to clamber onto the scales of comparison with _Jemma Simmons_? But, oh _blimey_. He imagined the men that _she_ must be used to dating, even if it _had_ been a while. How could he compare to the gallery of Adonis-types she was no doubt used to kissing. Oh, heck. He _was_ going to muck it all up.

"Shall we go then?" he asked suddenly, inwardly wincing at the pitch of his voice as he took the coward's step backwards.

The look that flashed across her face was unmistakable. He was a colossal disappointment. And just when it had all been going so well!

Jemma seemed to recover from his idiocy more swiftly than he did. She gave a quick nod, grabbed a little clutch purse from the lounge and strode across the room to the door. She pulled it back for him to walk through and hit him with another of her stunning smiles as he slipped past.

Fitz knew he had to claw that old advantage back, so he made sure that this time, he was the one who reached out to take her hand in his. Despite the seeming impossibility, her smile grew even warmer as he led her down the stairs of her building and out to where Lola waited for them. He maintained his hold of her hand as he opened the car door and helped her into her seat, then, taking the deep breath that would have to suffice in lieu of courage of the Dutch variety, softly pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

"You sort of knocked the wind out of me up there, Jemma," Fitz chuckled as she gazed expectantly up at him. "I didn't even tell you that you look…" he indicated wordlessly to her dress, her hair, her very _soul_ , hoping something sufficient would come to him.

"You're stunning," was all he could manage.

"I am?" Jemma beamed back at him.

Fitz's expression as he nodded mutely conveyed all of the awe his words hadn't quite communicated.

"Well, thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand. It seemed as though maybe she'd forgiven him for not kissing her. At least for now.


	6. Chapter 6

Skye made her way up the aisle of the bus and dropped herself in the seat next to Phil. He turned away from the flickering lights of the early evening scenery to smile at her, eyes crinkling handsomely at the corners.

"Lending Lola to Fitz was such a boss move, Boss," she said, nudging him playfully with her elbow.

Phil's grin widened. "How do you think they're getting on?"

Skye nodded. "I've heard Fitz sigh dramatically over her on more than one occasion so I'm sure he's having the time of his life."

"And what did you think of Jemma?" Phil asked.

Skye laughed. "Honestly? You know I love Fitz, but I never thought I would see an actual live female be that buzzed just from talking to him."

"She did seem kind of sweet, hey? I really hope it works out for him."

Skye nodded, then her expression grew more pointed. "You know how you told Fitz he should bring Lola back to you at the studio tomorrow?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Weeeell, tomorrow _is_ Sunday."

"You know me, Skye. I'm always at work on Sundays. And Fitz is too. We go out for Mexican."

"I know," she nodded, "I help myself to your leftover guac in the fridge on Monday mornings. But it's not _technically_ a work day, is it?"

"Skye," Phil sighed. "Can you please just tell me what you want?"

Skye clasped her hands together excitedly. "I want you to message Fitz and tell him you won't be in at work tomorrow so he might as well hang on to Lola until Monday morning."

Phil massaged his temples with his fingers. "And why, pray tell, would I blatantly lie to Fitz like that?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "Phil, what if _today_ has turned into _tonight_ and tonight is going spectacularly well?" She paused for effect. "And, you know, I don't want to dwell on the specifics, but I mean _spectacularly_ …"

Phil nodded in grudging understanding. "Okay!" he cried, holding up his palms as though to deflect any more of Skye's hinting. "I get it!"

"So you'll message him?"

Phil fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Why don't you do the honours? I don't think I can handle your inevitable dictation right now."

Skye shot him a gleeful grin and eagerly started texting.

"Remember, this is from me, right, Skye?"

"Yep," she nodded, tongue out in concentration, fingers flying over the keys. "Just throwing in a little fatherly advice."

Phil sighed resignedly. "Can you please give me my phone and get back to trifling with poor Trip's emotions?"

Skye hit send and handed him back the phone with a wink. "Anything you say, Boss."

ooo

Jemma had been pinching herself all afternoon. It seemed unfathomable that her reckless decision to humiliate herself in a shopping mall had somehow morphed into the best day of her life. She had to force herself not to skip on Fitz's arm but it was a heady sensation to be wearing her favourite dress and going out to a restaurant she'd only heard couples rave about in the company of none-less-than _Leo Fitz_. If she were the sort who had a gaggle of girlfriends, she imagined she'd be squealing about this with them over fancy cocktails for months to come.

The maître d' recognised Fitz immediately, eagerly shaking his hand and Jemma noticed many of the wait staff angling to have them seated in their section. She admired the way Fitz held easy conversations with everyone who tried to catch his eye and she especially liked how all the while he kept his warm hand splayed across the small of her back. At last they were led to what must have been the best table in the house and Fitz held her chair out for her like the perfect gentleman he was proving to be.

Jemma was gratified to discover that the restaurant she'd chosen _was_ unspeakably romantic. The cavernous space was all exposed stone and warm wood in near total darkness, with only golden candlelight twinkling from little glass and ceramic votives to see by. Through floor to ceiling windows the reflected lights of moored boats flickered across black water.

A waiter appeared noiselessly beside them holding out menus and a wine list. "Dr Fitz, sir, it's an absolute honour to have you dining with us this evening. We'd like to offer you and your companion a bottle of wine on the house, if you'd like to peruse the wine list. I'll give you a moment to decide." And with that he melted subtly into the darkness.

"You think they'd be offering free food to us poor students rather than high-rolling celebs like you," Jemma whispered cheekily.

"I know," Fitz sighed. "It's kind of embarrassing. But trust me, I've learnt the hard way. Gracious acceptance works out to be way less painful than trying to refuse."

Jemma nodded knowingly. "And then, when you go and leave a tip that covers the cost of all the free stuff you were willing and able to pay for anyway, you come out looking like the hero."

Fitz looked a little miffed. "Not _your_ hero, by the sounds of it. Though I was looking forward to giving that a try."

She laughed and shook her head. "Fitz, you're already my hero."

He could only hope that his blushing would be less obvious in the dim light. He was astounded yet again by the fact that he, Leo Fitz, was here with Dr Jemma Simmons, the woman whose staggering genius had knocked him for six so many years before. The reflection of the tealights sparkled in the empty wine glasses and in Jemma's amber eyes and before he'd even touched a drop, Fitz felt the telltale signs of intoxication.

Phil had schooled Fitz in his way round a wine list and Jemma's definite preference for red made the job only half as hard as usual. Complimentary starters were showered on them as well as the wine and Jemma could only roll her eyes at the way Fitz was fawned over by everyone who found themselves drawn into his unassuming orbit. He put up a good front but Jemma noticed that he seemed uncomfortable receiving such special treatment, especially in front of her.

"Can you tell me about some of your favourite things featured on the show?" she asked to distract him, raising her wine glass in a kind of toast. "Or does that feel too much like work?"

"No way!" Fitz replied eagerly, clinking his glass against hers. "You've probably guessed that nothing makes me happier than talking science. And what an amazing year we've just had! Humanity landed on its first comet, a child was born to a woman with a transplanted womb, a fossilized sea shell forced us to reconsider our conceptions of human culture…"

Jemma couldn't help but grin at the sudden emergence of the Fitz she fell in love with from the comfort of her couch. His blue eyes brightened as he warmed to his subject.

"I mean, did you hear that in March, Harvard's servers were brought to their knees dealing with the international demand to watch their press conference about gravitational waves? It's no surprise, really," he enthused. "As that physicist, Marc Kamionkowski, said, 'It's not everyday you wake up and learn something completely new about the early universe.'"

"Yes!" Jemma nodded. "The B-mode gravitational waves!"

"You were following that?" Fitz asked excitedly. "I mean, to be one of those cosmological theorists finding particular patterns in cosmic microwave background radiation? Staggering!"

"Didn't they predict that the patterns would peak during the first ten to thirty four seconds of the primordial universe following the Big Bang?" Jemma replied. "But then evidence came to light that the study's findings were probably just an experimental artifact."

"Yeah," Fitz agreed. "In the next few months they confirmed it was interstellar dust causing the observed B-mode gravitational waves."

"Hopefully, BICEP2 will come in handy there, hey?" she laughed.

Fitz stuttered to a halt. "You _know_ about that massive Antarctic telescope experiment?"

"Mmm," Jemma nodded, taking a sip of wine. "Perfect for observation of real B-mode gravitational waves given that it builds on the small aperture telescope design of BICEP1, but increases the number of detectors to increase mapping speed."

Fitz just gazed at her, speechless a moment.

"I mean," she went on dreamily, "Can you imagine visiting Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station and getting a look in the Dark Sector Lab? The transition edge sensors used to make the polarization sensitive bolometers on the BICEP2 are coupled to orthogonal phased antenna arrays. Can you even conceive of the background-limited sensitivity at an observing frequency of 150 GHz?"

"Not to mention the antenna arrays improving the scalability of the design," Fitz added.

"Exactly!" Jemma enthused. "What a dream!"

Fitz grinned. "I've never met anyone quite like you before, Jemma."

"You haven't?" she asked, suddenly worried. "Oh no, I'm being weird aren't I. Sorry," she shook her head, looking down at her hands. "I get carried away sometimes."

Fitz slid his hand across the table to capture one of hers. "Jemma," he whispered, willing her to look up.

She peered at him from under lowered lashes, the red flush of her self-imposed humiliation like a brand across her cheeks.

"You were _not_ being weird," he insisted. "You were just, you know…" he rubbed at the back of his neck. "You were just busy getting on with being my dream girl."

Fitz's heart expanded in synchronicity with the smile that bloomed across her face, lighting her eyes and lifting her countenance.

"Really?" Jemma whispered.

He shrugged, laughing. "How can you even doubt it? I've rarely meet anyone who's even heard of cosmic extragalactic polarization let alone speaks about it with such passion. And, remember, I hang out with theoretical astrophysicists on a regular basis."

Fitz noticed and took courage from the way Jemma's glance flickered down to his lips and quickly back up to meet his eyes. _Science, Biatch!_ he roared internally at every dickhead who'd implied over the years that he was too much of a boffin to ever get a date. He'd love them to see him now, sitting across from this picture of perfection whose mind was even more stunning than what could simply be observed with the naked eye.

Ordinarily, Fitz would feel like an idiot for sitting in his jeans, cons and cardi across from a woman that looked easily glamorous enough to be a World War II era pin-up. But Jemma had kept confessing her love for what she called his "signature garment" and its navy wool was still redolent of her zesty mandarin scent. Letting his own gaze settle every now and again on the soft, plumpness of _her_ red lips, he assured himself that he wouldn't be letting his next opportunity slip away.

* * *

With thanks to http colonslashslash io9 dot com slash biggest-scientific-breakthroughs-of-2014-1672377333 for the extreme nerdiness which I can only hope I distilled into functional sentences.


	7. Chapter 7

"We are getting dessert, aren't we?" Fitz confirmed after he'd pre-emptively asked to see the relevant menu.

"We better!" Jemma enthused, reaching for her clutch and getting to her feet. "I'm just nipping to the loo. Order me whatever has the most chocolate involved, okay?"

Fitz beamed back at her and then made the most of the opportunity to watch her walking across the restaurant, the hem of her perfect dress swaying mesmerizingly around her perfect legs.

He fished for his phone, realising it had possibly been the first day in years he hadn't even touched it once in a seven-hour stretch.

A message from Coulson showed on the screen. Fitz scanned it and rolled his eyes. Skye had obviously taken possession of Phil's phone again.

[FITZ 9:49 PM] Skye's been posing as you to send lewd "fatherly advice" again.

[PHIL 9:51 PM] Sorry, Fitz. Ignore the advice but she was right about Lola. Bring her back Monday.

[FITZ 9:51 PM] Don't suppose you've got any real fatherly advice for me?

[PHIL 9:51 PM] Just be Fitz.

[FITZ 9:52 PM] Umm, thanks?

[PHIL 9:52 PM] What do you want? That was heartfelt.

[PHIL 9:52 PM] Okay, I just scrolled up and saw Skye's advice. Lewd it may be but it's probably sound should you find yourself in that specific predicament.

[FITZ 9:52 PM] That's enough advice now, Phil. See you Monday.

ooo

First it was kayaking. Now Fitz was _dancing._ Nothing fancy mind you. Just the arrhythmic swaying embrace with occasional obligatory foot shuffle popular at highschool socials and wedding receptions across the country.

Right now, the angle of Jemma's face pressed into his neck would have required some sort of Twister-worthy maneuver in order to successfully land a kiss on the spot regarded as traditional. But Fitz was more than happy to wait. The sensation of her in his arms, the softness of her skin, the scent of her hair were all giving him just the sort of kinesthetic pep-talk he needed. It was beginning to sound, in his Jemma-addled brain, much like a song a lobster with the power of speech might take it upon himself to sing when hope was almost lost. But for now Fitz was yearning for another shot at that experience of communing over their shared discipline that had so thrilled him earlier. He hoped she might prove amenable.

"Jemma?"

"Mmm?"

"Are science and slow-dancing compatible?"

She raised her head with an intrigued smile. "You just try to take away the anatomy, the physics and the psychology and see what you're left with."

Fitz laughed. "Good point."

"I'd like to think we're doing fairly well on the chemistry front too," she winked and Fitz nearly forgot what all of this was in aid of.

"Look, I better stop you there before one of us makes an awkward periodic table joke," he chuckled.

"I'm _so_ glad you said that," Jemma shook her head laughing. "I have some impressively bad ones. Anyway, I had a feeling there might have been something else science-related you wanted to raise?"

"Well," Fitz shrugged, "It's just that it's not everyday one finds oneself in such close proximity to a blindingly intelligent and experienced biochemist who has such an easy familiarity with so many related and un-related scientific fields."

"Thank you," Jemma beamed back at him. "That's quite the compliment."

"So I'm dying to get your thoughts on gene therapy," he continued. "We're looking to profile the recent developments in treatment of cystic fibrosis and it just occurred to me that you are the perfect person for me to bounce some ideas off."

"Editing the DNA in a chromosome in order to heal," she breathed. "It's so exciting, isn't it!"

Fitz found her enthusiasm so infectious. "Can you explain the challenges of gene therapy to me?" he asked.

"Oh!" she looked up at him, surprised. "I mean, there wouldn't be anything a scientist of your caliber couldn't have anticipated."

Fitz laughed at her over-estimation of his talents. "Humour me?"

She shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, one hurdle is its short-lived nature. Before gene therapy can become a permanent cure for a condition, the therapeutic DNA introduced into target cells has to remain functional and the cells containing the therapeutic DNA must be stable. Problems with integrating therapeutic DNA into the genome and the rapidly dividing nature of many cells prevent it from achieving long-term benefits."

"So the patients require multiple treatments," Fitz replied.

"Exactly," she nodded. "And then there's the challenge of the immune response."

"Ah, of course," Fitz interjected. "Any time a foreign object is introduced into human tissues, the immune system is stimulated to attack the invader."

"Precisely. It's possible to stimulate the immune system in a way that reduces the effectiveness of gene therapy."

"Is that because its enhanced response to viruses that it has seen before reduces the effectiveness to repeated treatments?"

"See, I told you you'd be able to anticipate the hurdles!" Jemma laughed.

"But I'm having much more fun being prompted by you," Fitz retorted. "And the longer you play along, the longer I get to enjoy this whole experience."

"Well, in the name of your enjoyment, I'll continue then," she replied cheekily. "The delivery of DNA into cells can be accomplished by multiple methods. The two major classes are recombinant viruses which, as you would know, we sometimes call biological nanoparticles or viral vectors, and naked DNA or DNA complexes which are, of course, non-viral methods."

"Don't viral vectors carry the risks of toxicity and inflammatory responses?"

"See?" Jemma rolled her eyes. "If you want to maintain this pretence, you're going to have to ask me something that you don't already know everything about."

"Hush," Fitz replied grinning. "I'm enjoying this. Presumably you face some gene control and targeting issues with the viral vectors too?"

"Mmm," she nodded with an indulgent smile. "Then there's the issue of trying to treat multigene disorders. Because disorders like heart disease, high blood pressure, Alzheimer's disease, arthritis, and diabetes are affected by variations in multiple genes, that obviously complicates gene therapy."

"Of course," Fitz nodded thoughtfully.

"Are you familiar with the Weismann barrier?" Jemma asked.

"That's the principle that hereditary information moves only from genes to body cells, and never in reverse."

"So, hereditary information moves only from germline cells to somatic cells," she clarified.

"And soma to germline feedback is impossible?" Fitz asked.

Jemma nodded. "Right. And potentially modifying the germline would mean falling afoul of regulations in countries that prohibit it."

Fitz gave a low whistle. "Tricky."

"Making the ethics of it all even more complicated is insertional mutagenesis. If the DNA is integrated in a sensitive spot in the genome, for example in a tumour suppressor gene, the therapy could induce a tumour."

"Didn't that happen in clinical trials for X-linked severe combined immunodeficiency patients?" Fitz asked.

"Mmm," Jemma nodded sombrely. "Hematopoietic stem cells were transduced with a corrective transgene using a retrovirus. The results were development of T cell leukaemia in three out of twenty patients."

"Can anything be done to combat that effect?" he asked

"One possible solution is to add a functional tumour suppressor gene to the DNA to be integrated. That's not without its problems since the longer the DNA is, the harder it is to integrate into cell genomes. Alright, here's a real test for you - CRISPR technology?"

"Clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats?"

Jemma shook her head. "You're too good, Fitz."

Fitz ducked his head with a coy smile. "I mean, I _have_ been reading up on it."

"This is just an elaborate ruse to get me talking science, isn't it. Well, I guess it's nice to know that you find technical lingo so irresistible."

"Only when it's coming from you," Fitz shrugged, grinning.

Jemma rolled her eyes again. " _Anyway_ ," she huffed. "CRISPR technology allows researchers to make much more precise genome changes at exact locations. So that could help combat those particular challenges."

"Is gene therapy ever going to be affordable?" Fitz asked.

"That's probably the hardest part to overcome. We're talking about Alipogene tiparvovec or Glybera, the world's most expensive drug."

"At how much?"

"$1.6 million per patient."

"Crikey."

"I know."

"So we definitely need to feature this on the show. Care to consult?" Fitz asked breezily.

"I suppose I could be persuaded if the offer was attractive enough," Jemma replied. "And, by the way, you are."

Fitz didn't think he'd ever stop smiling. He glanced over Jemma's shoulder to see a tiny dark-haired woman lead an enormously tall bald man to join the live band that had started playing about an hour before. There was a smattering of enthusiastic applause from patrons at the sight of them making their way to the stage area. The band vamped while the woman introduced herself and her companion, who turned out to be her husband. He folded himself onto the high stool and started to croon. The effortlessness of the guy's amazing voice immediately put Fitz to shame.

"If I'd known I was going to be so thoroughly shown up," Fitz complained as he held Jemma against him, "I might have insisted we go elsewhere."

"He's not showing you up, Fitz," she smiled to herself, sliding her hand down his arm and burying her fingers deep in the cuff of his cardigan to make contact with his. "You've just seriously held your own in an in-depth conversation about the hurdles to be overcome in order for gene therapy to become a viable medical option."

"Yeah?" he grinned.

"Yes," Jemma nodded encouragingly. "And besides," she giggled. "You can serenade me anytime."

"Really?" Fitz laughed nervously. "It wasn't too horrible?"

She lifted her head and steadily met his gaze. "If I had you all to myself, I'd insist upon it."

Fitz didn't hate the idea of Jemma having him all to herself. He was still wondering how best to volunteer when she nestled her head once more against his throat.

Her breath warmed his skin as she spoke. "So, this morning, your crew were telling me all about some woman they called Dr Oxford."

Fitz's eyes bulged and he suddenly started coughing.

She couldn't help laughing at his reaction, sliding her hands back up his chest and clasping them together at the back of his neck.

"What… umm… what _specifically_ did they say?" he gasped when he finally recovered.

"Well," Jemma continued smiling, finding his eyes. "They said your heart was stolen years ago by some scientist and you hadn't even seen her face."

Fitz cheeks roughly matched the colour of her dress.

"I have to admit, I found that _extremely_ endearing."

He dropped his head onto her shoulder and groaned. "I can't believe they told you about… you."

"You're sure it was me then?" she laughed delightedly, running a hand into the curls at the nape of his neck.

"I'm hardly likely to forget the name of the woman I fell in love with, am I?" Fitz retorted.

"So…" Jemma paused, grinning. "If _she_ turned out to be _me_ , does that mean…?"

Fitz buried his face in her neck again and nodded. "But it's even worse now," he groaned. "Back then I had no idea how pretty, or funny, or easy to talk to you were."

"How does that make it worse?" she asked giggling.

"You know how I told you this morning that in forty five shopping mall visits all over America, I've never once wanted to spend more time than strictly necessary with anyone?"

Jemma nodded, her cheek rubbing against the softness of his hair.

"It's been six years since I heard you at that conference," he said, lifting his head but not quite finding her eyes on the dimly lit dance floor. "Since then I've never asked anyone out on a date. I've never even agreed to _go_ on a date on the rare occasion someone asked _me_."

He reached up to unhook her hands from behind his neck and brought them down to hold still against his chest. "Jemma, since I saw you at Oxford, just knowing there was someone out there like you, I could never settle for less, you know?"

She nodded in the darkness but he couldn't quite make out her expression.

"And look, obviously I'm not expecting you to feel the same way," he shrugged. "But after today with you? I'm more stuffed than ever."

Jemma's hands released his to reach up and stroke the rough line of his jaw and her eyes shone with a new intensity as her body melted against him. Fitz wrapped one arm around her, drawing her as close as he dared. She tilted her face up towards him expectantly and he could just see tiny pinpricks of light reflected in her irises as she waited for him.

 _Aha, that opportunity! That one he wasn't going to let slip away again!_

He skimmed his other hand up her spine across the diaphanous fabric of her dress and buried his fingers in the soft curls at the nape of her neck. Pressing his lips gently against hers and then suddenly more ardently as she responded with enthusiasm, Fitz wondered if he'd just experienced the Big Bang first hand in the middle of the crowded dance floor, no theoretical astrophysics required.

He could feel Jemma smiling against his lips. "Leo Fitz," she sighed. "You're a rocket scientist and you haven't worked out that when a girl says she's determined to win your heart, that isn't even code for _she feels the same way_?"

Fitz laughed and tried to sound disappointed even while his heart was threatening to hammer its way out of his chest cavity. "I thought you were about to say, 'Leo Fitz, you're a rock star.'"

She screwed up her face in mild disgust. "Rock stars? They're all power chords, poor grammar and drinking problems. In my book _rocket scientist_ has way more appeal."

And then Jemma was kissing him again and he had to focus all his minimal auxiliary concentration on not falling over.

* * *

Your gene therapy FitzSimmons nerdiness was suggested by Jmags-WriterofAwesomeness, who sounds like she knows what she's talking about, and brought to you by the wonders of wikipedia Gene_therapy! Again, fingers crossed that all those sentences mostly work and that you enjoyed the FitzSimmonsing! I've probably overdone it, sorry! I wish I had time to prune it back!

This looks at little bit better over at http colon slashslash archiveofourown dot org slash works slash 4204980 slash chapters slash 9680817 just coz I made the text thing look like a real text thing. other than that, the same!

Also, the singing pair - you're not supposed to know them. Sorry, this awesome date is entertaining for me in ways it won't be for any of you because I got to LIVE a version of it (with significantly less science and FitzSimmons involved)! The setting, the band, the dancing, the ONE! Oh, the memories! :D

There may be a bit of a hold-up on the last chapter. I'm sure you'll all cope, I just thought I'd let you know. I'm having fun dreaming it up but an imminent ten days away from home might prove a bit of a roadblock. We'll see what I can swing...

Don't forget, I love feedback. Reviews are THE BEST!


	8. Chapter 8

Despite Jemma's mildly disparaging comments, Fitz _did_ feel like a rock star cruising the streets in Phil's fire-engine red 1962 Corvette, the top down and the wind in his hair. It didn't hurt that thanks to the old-school design, Jemma wasn't way over the other side of the car in a bucket seat. She was right there next to him with her arms wound round his waist and her legs curled up underneath her on the dark leather. Fitz had chivalrously removed his cardigan for her to wear as they left the warmth of the restaurant and her heels, discarded long ago on the dance floor, now lay on the expanse of empty seat next to her.

Fitz was almost reluctant to turn off the engine when they reached Jemma's building, distraught at the very idea of such a perfect evening coming to an end. But determining to at least escort her to her door, he finally wrenched the key from the ignition and walked slowly round to the passenger side where Jemma was slipping on her heels with Cinderella-like grace.

He held out a hand to help her to her feet and enjoyed the sensation of his internal organs being obliterated as she melted him with her grateful smile.

Fitz wondered as he stole the first (pressing her up against the side of the car), just how many kisses he could manage to sneak in between Lola and their final goodnight.

Jemma giggled as he tried to instigate the seventh kiss-stop of the extremely short journey. "Fitz!" she huffed. "Can we _please_ just get upstairs?!"

His baffled expression was half unreservedly gorgeous and half utterly clueless.

"Upstairs?" he echoed vaguely.

"Ah!" Jemma gasped. _The element of surprise…_ "I mean, if you want, I thought maybe…"

"Oh! Of course, I'd love to…"

"… you could come up for…"

"…I mean, as long as that's alright with you…"

"…a night-cap?" she finished lamely, her voice pitched in a range that at least the neighbourhood dogs could be sure to hear.

Fitz nodded vigorously, quite unable to keep talking _and_ thinking, even given his higher-than-average processing power. He followed her docilely through the front door and up the stairs, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet while Jemma fumbled her key in the lock.

Jemma stepped inside, her back against the open door as Fitz hovered at the threshold in… _Oh god, was it trepidation?_

The only illumination filtered in from the street lamps outside and the occasional movement of headlights from cars below. An instant passed in the semi-darkness, which to Jemma seemed an eternity, but then he was smiling in the half-light, sauntering in, pulling her easily into his arms, kissing her so soundly she completely forgot her moments uncertainty.

"Vintage car, vintage dress. I think that means we _have_ to have a night-cap," Fitz murmured, his lips somewhere on her neck. "What exactly does that entail again?"

"I have _no_ idea…" Jemma's whispered confession transmuted to a quiet moan as Fitz somehow found a way to pull her closer, hold her tighter. "I guess we could just call it a euphemism?"

She felt his grin, wide against her throat, and suddenly he'd lifted her right off the ground, effortlessly scooping her into his arms. His tone against her ear was tinged with amusement. "So, not to the kitchen then? I'll be needing some directions."

Fitz leaned his ear towards her in a pantomimed prompt for an answer. She whispered one word, grateful for the emboldening darkness.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice, like his arms, holding unwaveringly firm.

Jemma nodded earnestly, the swell of her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Fitz watched her face in the dim light for a moment, scanning for any signs of uncertainty. Instead, he found only trusting eagerness.

"Bedroom it is."

ooo

Phil had found himself a little at a loss after letting Fitz off the hook for their traditional Sunday Mexican. He conjured a flimsy excuse and invited rest of the team round for brunch instead. Well, someone had to help him enjoy his home-baked sour dough, especially seeing as he'd gotten up early for farmers' market fresh eggs and free-range bacon.

They trickled in after eleven in various states of alertness. Skye arrived first and, as usual, took out the combined trophy for perkiness and sassiness that Phil might as well have permanently engraved with her name. He watched her fondly over the kale chips he was preparing as she got down on the floor to play with his dachshund, Audrey.

"So, any news from Fitz?" Skye called, letting Audrey lick at her face.

"He was grateful for that advice I sent," Phil deadpanned.

"Really?" Skye grinned and gave a low whistle. "I guess things with Jemma must have escalated quickly."

Ward was next to arrive, sitting bolt upright on the couch and watching while Skye rolled around with the puppy. He was followed by Bobbi and Hunter who, despite their on-again-off-again marital status, seemed at pains to look as though they hadn't arrived together. Mack and May wandered in bearing everyone's standard coffee order from the hipster café on the ground floor of Phil's building and lastly Trip made an entrance waving the morning newspaper.

"You have got to see this, people!" he called, spreading the broadsheet out across the caesarstone of Phil's kitchen island benchtop.

"The gossip pages, Trip?" Skye asked incredulously, sidling up to him with Audrey still in her arms. "Since when have you been a sixty-five-year-old homemaker?"

"Since Fitz got himself snapped by some paparazzo on his date last night," he replied, garnering the sudden attention of the entire crew who leapt to their feet to gather round.

Across the middle of the page was splashed an enormous colour photograph of Fitz and Jemma. Jemma was standing next to Lola's passenger door in an amazing red dress and she had Fitz's unmistakable navy cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her arms were around his neck and she was barefoot, standing up on tiptoe to kiss him. One of Fitz's arms was wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, and from the fingertips of his other hand, which hung loose by his side, dangled a stylish pair of red peep-toe heels.

The crew whooped, cat-called and high-fived one another in celebration.

Mack held his cardboard coffee cup aloft and boomed, "To Turbo!" and there was much dull-thunking of cardboard against cardboard interspersed with the odd splash of foam on Phil's polished hardwood floorboards as they drunk deeply to their colleague's romantic success.

Trip affected an appropriate breathy gossip columnist tone to read the article aloud:

 **Is Dr Leo Prince Charming? If The Shoe Fitz!**

Trip had to wait out the collective groan before he could continue.

 _The quiet university town of Cambridge, Massachusetts was abuzz yesterday with the arrival of MIT folk hero, Dr Leo Fitz, handsome host of the runaway success science show_ Near and Present Future _. After hours spent generously meeting and greeting fans at a local mall all morning, Fitz resurfaced late that night, caught by our photographer in an amorous embrace with a stunning unknown woman on the pavement outside a local riverside restaurant. Various members of the restaurant staff commented that Fitz and his lady friend had been intimate and affectionate all evening, spending much of the night on the dancefloor._

Trip paused until the various sounds of surprise, disbelief and pride died down.

 _Dancing the night away may account for Fitz holding his companion's heels and it seems he's also gallantly offered her his signature cardigan. The restaurant staff were quick to make comment on his generous tip. What a catch! And amazing wheels to boot! We wait with bated breath to find out if this new squeeze will become a permanent fixture for our beloved Dr Fitz._

ooo

Jemma could hear a persistent buzzing but she was doing her level best to ignore it. She was conscious only of the fact that her PhD had finally been submitted and that she didn't have to get out of bed for anything or anyone, at least not any time soon. She luxuriated in a certain pleasant exhaustion in her body and in the warmth of her bed, rolling over in the hope of going back to sleep until lunchtime. But where she expected pillows and duvets and a stuffed chimpanzee called Virgil, she found her nose pressed against a firm, warm, decidedly male body.

The dream of the day before came flooding in, but instead of waking alone to her solitary reality, here she was waking beside the gently snoring proof that it had all been so much better than her fantasies.

Fitz stirred in his sleep and muttered something about solar flares while gathering her into his arms. Jemma nestled into his embrace and surrendered to the sleep that came to reclaim her.

ooo

Despite the fact that almost all of the previous twenty-four hours of his existence could be placed in the "Wish Fulfillment" column of his personal ledger, Fitz had another whim he wanted to indulge. Waking up in the bedroom of the woman he only ever imagined he could have a chance to love was an amazing joy, especially with the memories of what had transpired between them so fresh that he could still feel the heavy looseness in his limbs. But his detailed and tenderly-cultivated daydreams always featured a scene in which he brought her a pot of tea in bed and he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to make it reality.

After gently disentangling himself from her sleeping form, Fitz sat on the edge of the bed and allowed himself the luxury of just gazing at her. Jemma's hair was strewn across the pillow like the Lady of Shallot and her long lashes flickered sporadically against her porcelain cheeks. He ghosted his hand over the angle of her shoulder, once more relishing the softness of her skin under his calloused fingers. He only just resisted the urge to trace constellations between the sparse freckles dotting gold across her pale chest and upper arm. And he somehow held himself back from fitting his mouth against her kiss-swollen lips, assuring himself there'd be plenty of time for that later. He located his jeans hiding under the bed and shrugged them on but had to forego the shirt, half-hidden as it was under Jemma's sleeping form. Instead he just shrugged on his cardigan against the cool morning air and padded on bare feet through to the kitchen. He only had one shot at the first of what he hoped would be many mornings together, and pleasant distractions be damned, he _would_ be waking her with tea.

ooo

When Jemma woke again it was to the sound of the kettle boiling. She contentedly snuggled further under the covers and just listened to Fitz humming over the domestic sounds of kitchen cupboards opening and closing, pouring water and teaspoons clinking against china. How she had charted her way from such loneliness to such delirious happiness in only one day was utterly beyond even her impressive powers of comprehension. All she knew was that it had a lot to do with her pursuit of a certain celebrity crush. And she would never again wonder whether that first PhD had been worth the effort.

All of that certainty was only reinforced when she heard a soft "Hi," from the bedroom door. If Jemma had ever been charged with the creation of one of those fundraising calendars, January through to December would have been filled with different angles of Fitz at this precise moment – bare feet, blue jeans, no shirt, navy cardigan, that torso, those eyes, that exact little lopsided grin – carrying a teapot in one hand and a milk jug and two bone china teacups in the other.

Jemma exaggeratedly rubbed at her eyes. "Oh, _Fitz_. Would you look at yourself? I'm not the only woman in the country who's indulged in this fantasy, I'm sure of it."

Fitz's face was a picture of delighted embarrassment as he carefully placed the tea things on her bedside table and fished in the pocket of his cardigan for the tea strainer. He plonked himself down on the bed and did his best to ignore Jemma's hands wandering under his cardigan as he poured the tea. She reluctantly released him as he handed her a steaming cup, leaning back against the pillows with the sheet tucked under her arms to take a sip.

Fitz felt quietly confident in his tea brewing abilities, but then he heard Jemma's sigh of contentment and watched her close her eyes in appreciation, tilting her head back against the bedhead to savour the experience.

"You don't have to be anywhere anytime soon, do you?" Jemma asked plaintively, as he swung his legs onto the bed and leant against the bedhead next to her to drink his tea.

"Not _too_ soon," Fitz grinned. "But I do have to return Lola to Phil at the studio in the morning," he added quietly. "How on earth am I going to drive away from you?"

"Would it be easier if I came too?" she offered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Yes!" Fitz replied without hesitation. "Would you really?"

Jemma shrugged. "I'm on holidays. Indefinitely. And it might be a nice opportunity to see New York. Besides," she added, "I don't think I could let you drive away. Not when you make such a great cup of tea."

Fitz laughed. "As long as I serve some purpose."

She pulled a face. "I suppose I'd have to let you go eventually. There _is_ that small matter of the TV show you make," she pointed out. "The fans would be devastated if we had to miss a week of _Near and Present Future_."

Fitz shrugged. "Suddenly I find myself only interested in pleasing this one specific fan," he admitted playfully. "I'm _pretty_ sure I could make her happy even without this week's episode."

"As you've already proved… _repeatedly_ ," she agreed, waggling her eyebrows until Fitz blushed. "But don't get too cocky. Live Fitz is all very well, but if I don't have your show to record, how can I rewind and rewatch all your cutest expressions? How will I get by without your voice in the background talking science to me while I slum around in my apartment?"

Fitz laughed. "I could be persuaded to talk science to you while you slum around in your apartment. Heck, we can start right now."

"Not _right_ now." Jemma placed her teacup on the nightstand and once more slid her hands under the navy wool of Fitz's cardigan. "I don't get to do _this_ while you're on TV," she acknowledged.

"Err, no," he chuckled. "I mean, I think it's pretty important that we maintain our family friendly appeal."

"That's a good point," she mused. She suddenly pushed back the sheets, enjoying Fitz's sharp intake of breath at his view of her in broad daylight. Settling lightly onto his lap, she took the teacup out of his hands and placed it next to the pot, then began to slide his cardigan slowly off his shoulders.

"You don't have to worry too much about being family friendly in here."

"Right," he nodded, desperately trying to keep his eyes trained on hers. "Which is good. I mean, a G-rating, once lost, is lost forever." He allowed his gaze to slip slightly. "Costuming would probably have a few things to say about your, umm, ensemble, for example."

"And without your signature garment," Jemma replied smirking, letting his cardigan drop to the floor, "They'd probably have a few things to say about _your_ ensemble too."

"You know," Fitz chuckled, "It never occurred to me that my Dr Oxford would be this _handsy_."

"Is that a complaint?" she retorted archly.

" _God_ , no," he breathed.

ooo

It wasn't until much later in the day that Fitz finally checked his phone to find all the texts of baffling congratulatory messages and group selfies of raised coffee cups from Phil's impromptu team brunch. Only Mack had thought to actually send him the link to the article online.

Fitz tucked his hands behind his head and watched as Jemma wandered across the room to fetch her laptop. He felt very sure he could get used to the view, though he severely doubted he'd ever manage to take it for granted.

She handed the laptop to him, snuggling back under the covers next to him and the feel of her bare skin against his was enough to make him forget why on earth he was holding a computer. Jemma had picked up his phone to read the link outloud and it took him a good ten seconds longer than it should have to realise he was supposed to be typing.

The sense of reality that flooded in as the two of them gazed at themselves on the screen brought pinpricks of actual tears to Fitz's eyes. Though he wasn't thrilled about the invasion of his privacy, there was something powerfully visceral about seeing Jemma in his arms from the perspective of an onlooker. He felt a muddle of fierce pride, arousal and defensiveness, torn between wanting her on his arm for every photo op and keeping her all to himself.

"At last," Jemma sighed, sidling somehow closer. "It seems I've found the perfect accessory. I should have known it was a TV personality that I needed to set off that dress."

"I hear good TV personalities are hard to find," Fitz joked, wrapping her up once more in his arms.

"I don't know," Jemma shrugged, grinning. "I just picked mine up at the mall."

* * *

 _Well, my beloved readers. Thanks for sticking with me for this funny little fic that I used to distract myself from the horror (oh, the horror!) of space rock reality. I just want to see them happy! Is that such a crime!? (By the way, I love SO much that EH and IDC seem to agree with me on this. I nodded along SO enthusiastically to that whole do our laundry, have a chat, watch TV scenario. I'd watch it too!)_

 _If you just want to see more of our beloved nerds being happy, you might also like to read another completed story of mine called "The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome" and it has lots more team interactions. I suppose it's sort of canon-compliant, breaking away into a happier alternate reality after "What They Become"_

 _If you want to make me even happier than this little dalliance into my Fitz-is-a-TV-Host-AU, you could leave me a teensy little review? Yes, I am like diva Iain de Caestecker telling everyone he has the body of a twelve-year-old-boy just so that everyone else can say "Noooo! You're so spunky and buff!" Feel free to tell me I'm spunky and buff. I'll be delighted._

 _I have to shout out to notapepper from whom I shamelessly stole "handsy" – it was just SO fun in her context. If memory serves me correctly, it was somewhere in the awesomeness that is "Oh, To Be Young" but correct me, notapepper, if I got that wrong. To take another leaf from notapepper's book, reviews are like a new installment in an ongoing dubsmash war. (And "Hot on the Heels of Hydra"? Dude, I think Clark Gregg might have read it…)_


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